


rigger's bend

by twigcollins



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigcollins/pseuds/twigcollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A knot used to join two lines - or - Daud, Corvo and the next thirty years.  Sequel to 'lowlands away.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Sir, I would never question your decisions…”

“Of course not.”

The Whaler shifted just slightly where he stood, obviously missing the mask he wore in his other role, the way it hid both nervousness and uncertainty. Daud considered his options, and then poured himself another generous helping from the decanter on Attano’s desk . Supposedly it was of the same blend the ‘Loyalists’ had offered up when they’d tried to kill him. Maybe the poison had made it worth drinking.

“It’s just that, some of the men have been talking… it doesn’t seem like we’re taking enough precautions. Or… any precautions. Sir.”

As head of the Whalers, Daud still conducted business in the Flooded District, but a considerable portion of his time was now spent moving between there and Dunwall Tower, where there was still no official place for him at all. The Lord Protector had an office, but he hardly used it, and so the two of them had been hot racking the room ever since Daud had taken up his title. It had not been made public, that there was a new Royal Spymaster, though presumably word had gotten around to those who needed to know it. An open secret, at least for now. 

“If the Empress should ever rescind her order…” the Whaler continued, “the further we play along with this, the less chance we have of getting out.”

Daud took a sip of macabre nostalgia - Attano had some sense of humor, however buried - and rolled a stray pistol ball lightly between his fingers and the desktop. The only two things the Lord Protector seemed to keep nearby were trinkets Emily Kaldwin had given him - a pretty shell, a drawing - and anything good for killing a man.

The door was closed. If it had been open, Daud might have heard some distant noise from one of the servants’ rooms. The thick carpets dulled the sounds of patrol to nothing - as well as other sounds, according to the Lord Protector. There’d been some discussion of removing them entirely, of making all kinds of changes, though nothing had come of it yet. 

It wasn’t really their biggest fear, that there was anyone better than Daud left to hire. The real trouble wasn’t likely to be a knife in the dark.

“I believe I made it clear that I had no expectations for any of you to follow me to the Tower, nor would there be any penalties if you chose to walk away. I don’t even think you’ve been asked to do anything particularly ambitious so far.”

The Whaler didn’t move. “No, sir.”

He hadn’t lost a single man when he’d told them of their new duties and their new position, when he’d given them the chance to leave. Daud hadn’t been expecting that. It helped, perhaps, that there were some wages discreetly available for the Spymaster within Dunwall’s coffers, along with access to tailors and weapons that had left them all looking rather fashionable for men no one was ever supposed to see.

Daud still expected to die, of course. Each time he saw Attano and especially when he did not, a part of him still waiting for the hot, sudden lance of the dagger down through his neck, or the feel of his last breath rattling in his throat, the sharp inhale between his head being yanked back and the vicious draw of the blade. Even if Corvo wanted to take his time, to savor his revenge, it seemed all too likely his pride would keep him from dragging things out too far. He was a professional, they both were - but that did not mean the Lord Protector could endure this armistice indefinitely, no matter what he’d sworn or to whom.

Daud frowned at a sudden, odd realization. “Are you worried about me?”

The Whaler fidgeted, and Daud watched the embarrassed flush climb slowly above the edge of his collar, watched as the killer he’d hired and trained and bestowed with the most lethal of gifts coughed into his hand and looked at the clock on the wall and a rack full of swords - sharp as razors, nothing decorative there - and anywhere else but him. Daud didn’t smile, but he could feel it, a bloom of amused warmth in his chest even sharper than the alcohol. How had his life ever ended up here?

“If there’s nothing else…”

“No, sir.” The Whaler said, and was out the open window and gone before Daud could reach for his drink again. The edges of the cut crystal gleamed dimly in the low light - if Attano wasn’t going to kill him quickly, they would _have_ to do something about his choice of whiskeys. 

He hadn’t agreed to this to save his own skin. He didn’t become Royal Spymaster for power - there were no future plans of treachery, no goals. It wasn’t about penance - it meant nothing to him if the new Empress ever forgave him for what he’d done to the old. Daud wasn’t certain they’d even be able to pull off this plan, and that was a truth that had never been spoken aloud - how to keep a child on the throne until she was no longer so, in a city so corrupt one could argue it did not wish to be saved.

The odds were against them, and each day would be a new battle. Only a truly foolish man would wish to put himself in the middle, no matter what the potential gain, and a word had not been coined for the sort of man who would stay just to see what would happen next. 

Daud had told Corvo once, that in sparing his life the Lord Protector had taken on some aspect of the Outsider, not the malice or the chaos or all the other half-truths the Abbey told each other to make the day go by but the most honest of them - curiosity. In his life, Daud had never considered himself a curious man… but here he was, wasn’t he?

All this time, thinking he’d been too pragmatic for the Mark to change him. Thinking he’d been trivial and base enough in his pursuits to free himself from the attention of a god.

“You bastard,” he said quietly, and finished his drink in the silence of an empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Once more unto the breach. If anyone has any interest in being a beta for this one, let me know. I do my best not to make any massive canon cock-ups (or other cock-ups), but having a second pair of eyes would be appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Emily Kaldwin’s coronation had been a hurried ceremony in a half-dead city, with only fragments of pomp and circumstance and those few who were legally or morally obliged to attend the crowning of the Empire’s new leader. Daud had not been there, but he could imagine it, a little girl staring out across a fair sample of all of those with the power in Dunwall who’d been more than happy to look the other way when her suffering had been to their benefit. Daud would never understand why Attano hadn’t killed Havelock outright, not when there were those who still believed he wasn’t so poor an option for Lord Regent, especially when measured against a child.

Mercifully, there had been no further crises to shake what remained of the pillars of Dunwall, and some combination of manic partnership and bitter rivalry amidst the members of the Academy had finally and for good laid waste to the Burrows Plague, though there had been a fight over just who had been the most responsible for finding a cure. From what he understood the newly reinstated Piero Joplin was yet involved in some bitter dispute with the head of the Academy, something to do with a new patent for an Arc Pylon. The two men had become relative installations in the Tower, and even in his short time as Royal Spymaster Daud had heard them bickering in the front halls - and on the terraces, and in the gardens, and all the way down the water lock, voices echoing up as the boat descended to the bay. 

He didn’t know how Attano endured it - Daud would have tossed them both to the hagfish just for a few moments quiet - but if they were annoying they were also brilliant and successful and the fact that Daud hadn’t been left for the rats himself was proof enough of how highly the Lord Protector valued results over his own peace-of-mind.

The lack of a proper coronation was the main justification for a day of festivities, a necessary spectacle some three months after the Academy’s official announcement that there were no more Weepers in Dunwall, no new reports of illness and - with their usual sense of restraint and humility - no sign that the plague would ever return to harrow their shores. Joplin had been rather put out that no one had noted his drastic improvements to rat-catching procedures, though the effectiveness of his armor-plated jodhpurs suffered somewhat from being too ridiculous to wear.

The celebration would be the first true chance for Dunwall’s citizens to recognize their new Empress in person, a parade throughout the city followed by an audience with representatives from each of the Isles, a diplomatic reunion after such a long period of uncertainty. A jubilee of sorts, to sweep the ledgers clean and begin anew. It was a gesture of openness and unification and generosity deliberately counter to the all Lord Regent’s attitudes. It was also, Daud knew, more than a bit of a risk, implying a strength within the court that simply did not exist yet.

A calculated risk, when there were no other options, when keeping all the doors and windows closed and the Empress safely locked away would be seen as a sign of weakness within and without, and tragedy would only be delayed for a time. Corvo had argued as much, over the protests, and Daud thought it would not have been so effective if the Lord Protector had so obviously wished it wasn’t necessary.

Daud was not surprised to discover that he’d become the calm in the storm, as plans were made and changed and finalized. Of course, for him it was nothing more than an amusing puzzle, finding the best use for scarce resources as it had been in those early days when he’d been making his presence known, when dealing with wars on all fronts rather came with the territory. It was a challenge, to study the whole of the Empress’ procession route and note all the places he wanted his men in position, should anything untoward occur while she waved and smiled and made herself a target to the people for the sake of their loyalty. 

The weather held for the day of the celebration, the sky a blue that painters spread on the sides of teacups, and Daud had already been up well before dawn for a meeting with the Lord Protector, on a high part of the Tower wall overlooking where the ambassadors had docked their ships. Daud had easily bribed his way into the details of each crew, though apart from a few curiosities there was nothing much in the telling.

“Tyvia sent their prince _and_ princess?”

Corvo tended toward a rather unnatural stillness, Daud thought, maybe some side effect of years spent standing behind or beside a throne, trying not to fall asleep. Although it was just as likely the Lord Protector reined in his reactions as far as he could manage when they were together, refusing to show the hint of anything that might be construed as vulnerability.

“Twins. Young, only a few years older than the Empress. I don’t believe either of them are intended to inherit.”

Corvo rolled his eyes. “Twins. Of course, let’s do twins again. Why not?”

“Fraternal, this time,” Daud said, “The ship is clean. All of them are. I believe our ambassadors are here simply to play nice and bring home new gossip of all our misfortunes.”

The festival would also mark the official reopening of many of the trade routes the Plague had shuttered, and the welcoming of various naval and whaling ships that had taken to docking in other ports. Reconstruction of the city had been fierce and dedicated nearly from the moment Emily had been crowned - even if some of it was little more than paint and good intentions - and the Flooded District was now a problem the men of the Academy were falling over themselves to try and solve, civil engineering on such a vast scale apparently the sort of thing these men took to bed with them for their sport.

“The processional stops three times along the route, where we’ve agreed on,” Corvo said. Daud had run the length of it himself, twice, choosing those places least auspicious for troublemakers, and he was certain the Lord Protector had double-checked his findings. “We were able to argue the Overseers into holding their sermons until the official meeting, so that the ambassadors might best receive their words of wisdom.”

Daud smirked, the sarcasm in the other man’s voice arch enough to crack glass. He wondered who had actually been the one to negotiate with them, while Corvo no doubt stood behind the Empress and glared stiff and silent warnings like bolts waiting to be fired.

His meetings with the Lord Protector contained no pleasantries, no greetings or farewells and barely a spare word beyond anything the Royal Spymaster had learned since their last meeting that the throne ought to know. It wasn’t so much different from his work before, save that Attano never whined at him as some of his clients had, seeking permission or justification for the choices they made, and he only told Daud the what - the goal of the day - leaving how and where and when entirely at his discretion.

So Daud made his way that morning from rooftop to rooftop alongside the procession, with Dunwall’s cheering masses sending up a roar to match the tide against the rocks, and his men had nodded as he passed, discreetly transversing away to their next checkpoints. He had given them orders on how best to seek out any threats - _pretend that you’re going to kill her, and then don’t_ \- with the reminder that if the Overseers caught them, they were entirely on their own.

The Watch certainly looked impressive, marching in perfect time. The young Empress was all serenity and smiles, gazing out at her people as if all she’d ever wanted was to come before them, and Daud could hardly imagine her as the girl he’d heard retching out of nerves, just before they’d bundled her into her pale finery.

He hadn’t kept her as his prisoner for more than an hour after killing the Empress. His men had been the ones to pass her off to the Cat and Daud had never once looked her in the eye. He regretted that.

The crowds were impressive, almost heartening - Daud had not been certain that many people in Dunwall were still alive, but it also meant his attention could not waver. The part of him that had always made note of potential dangers still served him now - that if there had been a single Weeper somehow overlooked, if the wrong acquaintance of any number of dead or imprisoned men suddenly felt ambitious, or if the Abbey had already changed their minds about they way things stood. He watched and waited for the worst to happen, for that one face in the multitude that did not smile, the one whose clothes were too fine, who did not belong…

It was not fear. Let the Lord Protector see to that. Daud would mostly be annoyed to fail, that all his effort had somehow overlooked the real threat. He would be irritated if the Empress went and got herself killed so early on such a fine day, or if one of his men was noticed by the Watch or the Overseers and started some row. Mostly, it was irksome to know that the Lord Protector would take his head before anyone else’s, which meant Daud wouldn’t be around to see the unholy vengeance of the aftermath. Corvo had made it clear exactly what had stayed his hand, and should that change he would no doubt make Whitecliff look like a mildly homicidal picnic. 

The parade finished near the main entrance to the Tower, and Emily made a short speech there full of hope and honor and heartfelt words about her mother that left the crowd cheering twice as loudly as before. Half the day over, then, and there had been no attack, not the slightest sign of danger. A few of the Whalers who hadn’t been watching the parade returned with news of their own, and the rest were already on the move to their next positions. Daud had every right to follow the Empress and her court inside, or even move to an obliging side door, but it seemed far more respectable somehow for a Royal Spymaster to make his own way.

\-------------------------------------------

“Empress, you should eat.”

“I’m not hungry. Corvo?”

Daud stepped into a rush of controlled chaos, the room full of maids and servants rushing here and there with clothes and food while Emily had her procession make-up scrubbed off and her hair unpinned so she could be carefully remade. The new jacket she wore was the color of opal, cut long, and when the light hit it just right Daud could see the pattern, glittering swans against the white background. Callista was there, as always, the woman having long since asserted herself in the role of advisor as well as tutor. 

Everyone pulled double duty in the court of Emily Kaldwin. Half of them were even marginally sane.

“It will be some time before the banquet, my lady,” Callista pressed, “it would be better-“

“It’s not like anything I eat will stay down. Where has Corvo gone?”

A man in uniform stepped up - Curnow, the other one, the Captain of the Watch. “He went off to speak with one of my men, to make sure the road is clear for your arrival, Empress.”

The road would be clear, Daud had seen to that, but if they had the men to spare on redundancy then why not use them?

Callista smiled at her uncle, and tutted at her charge. “Maybe just some lemonade then, and a few of those cinnamon biscuits you like?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Emily said, turning a little as her hair was brushed out and set back into place - she was growing it out, yet another attempt to look older - and damn him, but Daud recognized the pin placed there. It wasn’t the same one, was it? It couldn’t have been, perhaps the other half of the set or perhaps… and the coat wasn’t at all the same but the collar was high enough that when she looked at him -

It was only going to get worse as she grew up. Or he’d be lucky enough to be dead by then.

The general agreement was that Daud did not exist. The Empress did not speak with her Royal Spymaster, what information he had to give went through Corvo or came to her by formal report. Everyone in the room had seen him at least a few times by now, they knew who he was and what he was for, if only so when they shot him it could not be by accident. Daud said nothing in the sudden stillness, and them the moment passed, everyone returning to their preparations as if he wasn’t there, though he could see a certain new stiffness in Callista’s manner.

“Here, my lady, a bit of ginger to settle your stomach.”

Emily was pale beneath her makeup, taking a few careful sips from the glass she was offered before shutting her eyes, and Daud could see her lips moving just slightly, likely practicing those introductions yet to come.

“You were radiant, highness. The people were very pleased.” the Captain said gently. Daud wondered if the man stood here in Corvo’s absence and decided it must be so. Even in the Tower it was rare that Corvo kept more than dozen paces from her side, let alone left the room entirely. Daud could only imagine him going increasingly mad on some floor below, likely reducing whatever poor guardsman was unlucky enough to delay him into a stammering heap.

“I forgot a whole part of my speech. I was supposed to thank the Admiralty for their efforts on the seas during our time of hardship. I think I thanked the Abbey twice. Did I do that?”

The Captain chuckled. “You were just fine. You don’t need to worry, this party is supposed to be for you. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Is Corvo back?”

“I’m here, Emily.”

He’d noticed at the procession, of course, that Corvo had changed into the fanciest iteration of his usual attire, with the slightest bit of extra trim on the cuffs and collar, all the metal polished past gleaming, but he’d also been watching from a distance, with other concerns on his mind. Daud usually met with the Lord Protector at night, and even then there was no reason to look at each other - he knew the surface of the moon better than he did Attano’s expression, and they both preferred it that way. 

He remembered Corvo’s panic, that very first meeting, remembered a face blanched white with shock and horror and rage. He remembered that same face, just as pale, a five o’clock shadow framed by filthy hair and eyes that couldn’t focus as he was dragged helplessly along. Daud had scoffed a bit at the rumors of the Empress and her Lord Protector, even more amused by one of Waverly Boyle’s remarks, how the ladies of Dunwall were lining up to see if they might help ease the pain of the Lord Protector’s noble, broken heart.

It made sense now. Amazing how a bath and a shave and the right cut of a coat could change everything. When he wasn’t half-dead, poisoned or battered or blasted by the wind and the sun, Corvo Attano could easily stand up against any other young nobleman of rank. Except it was more than that. Where the rest of Dunwall’s nobility was feckless nearly to the man, preferring to brag about duels rather than fight them and choosing anything over a moment’s hardship, there was nothing hesitant or aimless in the way the Lord Protector moved. Every step was deliberate, every cool look to a purpose, with the sense that no challenge in the world would make him falter. If the Abbey thought to advertise this side of self-abnegation, they might actually find some converts. 

“Corvo!”

He went to her, of course, and smiled. The transformation was startling no matter how many times Daud saw it, like watching an Overseer’s hound suddenly wag its tail at the approach of a favored master. He did glance up in Daud’s direction, just long enough for the fangs to show, before attending fully to the Empress, reassuring her as he must have been throughout the day. Listening patiently as she recounted her favorite moments from the procession and even encouraging her to eat when Callista could not, throwing an apologetic look in the woman’s direction when she sighed.

Emily and her tutor retired to the table in a nearby study, and Corvo moved to lean against the wall across from the door, which was Daud’s invitation to step in beside him. The Lord Protector kept his eyes on his charge, and it was a rather impressive sight, a fond gaze and a grim, set line of the mouth all on the same face. 

“The ambassador from Morley departed his ship earlier than expected, and he was not watching the procession,” Daud said. “I set a watch on him, they’ve followed him to an estate-“

“Near Boyle’s?”

The words were steady enough that he could have been talking about the weather, but if Morley was somehow planning for trouble? Or if the ambassador was, while counting on his position to shield him from the consequences?

“Nowhere near. No tunnels, no passages, no back alleys. I don’t think this concerns the Empress, at least not by direct attack.”

If Corvo was at all relieved to hear it, there was no sign, though Daud knew he had only the two sets of problems - ‘Emily Kaldwin’s personal safety’ and ‘everything else’.

“Any ideas?”

“I’ll know soon. You’ll know before you step through the door.”

The Lord Protector didn’t answer him. The Empress had finished with her meal, and so he returned to her side as Daud once more ceased to exist.

\-------------------------------------------------

Waverly Boyle had offered up her mansion as a sufficiently extravagant meeting hall for the ambassadors of the Isles, and given that she had been among the last to know how to decorate for and cater to and impress a crowd while the city collapsed around them, the offer had been gratefully accepted. Not as grateful, perhaps, as Lady Boyle was for the return of certain valuables that had gone missing during the last celebration, but according to Attano that had been a righting of the scales and nothing more, the rare chance to undo some of the collateral damage. 

In an unrelated incident, Lord Brisby had been regrettably killed by vicious burglars, who had stripped him of all his most prized and valuable possessions. In further unrelated news, a carriage had left the Boyle estate soon after, with two passengers bound for a country manor, where the quiet living and fresh air might prove a restorative..

The rumors surrounding the Boyles had only grown more vicious as Waverly’s connection to the Empress proved more than a fleeting gesture. She had responded for the party by decorating each inch of her home as a tribute to the legacy of the Kaldwins, a display of devotion that was aggressively overdone even before he saw the pair of live swans swimming in a pond that had been set up in a side room, attacking any of the servants who dared to move too close.

Waverly he found in the hall, laughing off a bit of wine that had been splashed on her blouse as she moved to the back stair, and Daud smiled as he heard her curse under her breath the moment no one could see.

“Interesting choice of decor,” he said mildly, as she gasped and turned, “rather like a pearl-handled truncheon.”

“Subtlety is out of fashion at the moment,” she said, recovering far more quickly than many he’d known and continuing up the stairs. “That cow Triss dumped half a glass of red on me. I don’t suppose you’d mind burying her in the hedgerows?”

“But will you pay me in swans?”

Daud had known of Waverly Boyle - of all the Boyle women - for a long time, in the way he’d vaguely known of all of Dunwall’s upper classes, sorted loosely by depravity and potential danger and then shuffled to the back of his thoughts until he had need to remember. Waverly was young but as far from innocent as she could set her mind to. She had few friends beyond the rocky companionship of family and was utterly ruthless with anyone who dare to cross her or her sisters, with most of her power bound up in that irony of ironies - ‘polite society’. 

He had wondered if she might drift away from her associations with the court once the matter of her sister had been concluded, but Waverly had not stopped her visits with the Empress, and her path had crossed his on more than one occasion. After the issue of Esma Boyle had been resolved - he’d been lucky, it had happened faster than even he’d expected - and after Waverly had asked for details and he’d provided them to the final strike and the last drop, some new alliance had blossomed between them. It was the reason she smiled instead of putting the guard on him, and perhaps even the reason she left the door open and did not say a word as he stepped inside and shut it behind him.

“Did anything happen during the parade? It all seemed rather quiet from where I was. The mob, at least, was pacified. I didn’t recognize many of the diplomats, I wonder if the old ones were too afraid to come.” Waverly shed her shirt with a practiced ease, as if he wasn’t there. “Damn, this stain’s seeped through. Help me with this, will you?”

He’d been many places, and seen many things, including quite a few rooms like these. Daud was not a handsome man, but he was a dangerous one, and that had an attraction all its own. Still, it was not every woman who would put her back to a trained killer, let him undo her corset and then watch her walk half-undressed to her wardrobe and back again, making no attempt at modesty. There was a birthmark on her left breast, a small, vaguely teardrop shape that curled gently at the edge of her areola. 

"If a man is truly tedious, he'll tell me it looks like a heart," she said, certain where his gaze would fall, and handed him a corset, this one dyed a pale blue-green. "Why are you here?"

"Just making sure all is in order." He tried to cultivate an air of indifference, but he was very careful with his work, little worse than failure due to inattention.

"I believe I saw one of your men, briefly." Daud made a note to have a word with them later, while Waverly chuckled at whatever look crossed his face. "Has the Lord Protector lost his mind yet?"

"Getting there." He paused for a moment, to deal with the corset as she helped him slide it around her already narrow waist. It had been a while since a woman had presented him such a task, though he had enough training in delicate challenges to keep his movements nimble. Daud pulled a bit too tightly halfway up, and might very well have apologized, if not for the way Waverly gasped, as if she'd been expecting him to so do all along, and found it worth the wait.

“You know, when Corvo was here last he took everything that wasn’t nailed down." Waverly sighed. "I mean, beyond the obvious. Another gesture of my loyalty and largesse, I suppose. I should ask him if he can get the emerald back, at least.”

“I’m waiting for word on the Morley ambassador," Daud said. "It seems he’s taken an unexpected detour.”

“He’s busy fucking Lord Estermont while his wife enjoys the festivities.” Waverly said simply, and glanced over her shoulder at his silence. “You really didn’t know? The plague must have kept them apart all this time, and he couldn’t bear it a moment longer. So, I suppose there’s one man who’s not afraid to come.”

Daud smiled despite himself, less at the truly awful pun than her childish delight in it. Her skin looked very soft in the low light, with loose golden curls framing her face, and the more she tried to look doe-eyed the more wicked - and lovely - she became.

“My lady, you have a mouth like a drunken whaler.”

“What will you do with me, I wonder?” A second gasp as he cinched her in, and there was no denying the promises in her smile now. Perhaps the sight of her biting her lip as he suckled on her creamy skin, or of her hands clutching desperately at a bedpost as he took her roughly, fast and hard while she urged him for more. Clearly she knew the bend of his thoughts, and Daud could see her amusement, practically a challenge - _why wait?_ \- though she did not go so far as to press back against him. What was it she truly wanted? The sex? To take him, conquer him, as she had obviously done to others before? Or was it simply the thrill of seeing how far she could push things, staving off relentless boredom for at least a few moments more?

Daud tied off the laces at the top of her corset, stepping back. Waverly was all amusement as she buttoned up her shirt, even more amused when he held her jacket out and helped her ease into the sleeves. It was tight enough to easily feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

“I don’t know how you manage this alone.” 

“I try not to be alone.”

A slip in the seduction, in the act, and the tone in her voice was neither coquettish or teasing. Or maybe this was the act.

Daud studied the set of her shoulders for a moment. “Are you with Attano yet?”

Waverly looked pleased that he would ask.

“I thought I’d let the line out a bit more, and then take you both at once.”

“Ambitious.” Daud could just hear the echo of the clock chime through the door. He hadn’t intended to stay half as long. “It’s time. They’ll be here soon.”

“Do you really not mind it, taking orders from him?”

Obviously she mistook him for a man who was accustomed to picking and choosing his way through the world. He’d taken orders from much stupider people, for more foolish reasons. As a boy, he had known life was hard, unfair, merciless, but Daud had thought that at least life and death were matters of gravitas and dignity. He now had eighteen years of solid proof in rather the other direction.

“I would, but he doesn’t give me orders.” Only the one imperative and the one consequence for failure - the Lord Protector considered him smart enough to work the rest out on his own.

Waverly sighed, taking one last look in the mirror, a hardness settling beneath her soft features, and it was clear to see how much she loathed the world she was so adept at controlling, and he shifted so that she could see his reflection behind her, staring in her eyes in the glass.

“Cheer up. With any luck your swans will maim a guest or two before the day is done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The whole notion of Daud/Waverly Boyle comes from reading Smaragdina’s wonderful AU work. I honestly didn’t intend for things to go this way, at least not this fast, but the scene started and Waverly just took her top off.
> 
> 2\. Thanks to tylesti (tylesti.livejournal.com) for a detailed discussion of the intricacies and potential difficulties of Dunwall politics aka “Daud and Corvo vs. the endless Brobdingnagian clusterfuck.”


	3. Chapter 3

Daud was no longer allowed to wear red in the presence of the Empress.

He wore what they’d given him instead, an outfit that resembled the Watch uniform closely enough that the nobles looked right through him, and yet all the guards at the party knew he wasn’t one of theirs, either. He’d worn all sorts of guises over the years. Everything from a dockhand to an Overseer when it was required, and he tried to think of what he was doing now as just an extension of the rest. One more role to play, to be folded up and forgotten about when it all was through. 

As a younger man he’d never doubted the divide, between the work he’d done and the man he was - at the end of the day, the costume always came off, discarded with ease. Daud felt like he was getting away with something - he’d been proud of it, to listen to endless prattle about ideology and virtue on all sides, and believe in nothing but himself.  
Believing in himself. Daud knew he would not live long enough to feel again what that was like.

A thin figure cut through the crowd toward him, a wine glass perched between narrow, bony fingers. Daud shifted ever so slightly so there was room next to him for Anton Sokolov to try and disappear into the woodwork. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Sokolov said, staring at the crowd as he took a measured sip from his glass. Beneath the cologne and freshly-washed skin were a dozen smells, all chemical, none particularly pleasant. He’d probably come directly from the workshop, perhaps under some duress.

“Everyone already knows who you are,” Daud replied, with his eyes firmly fixed on the crowd.

“I see.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly, some conversations quieting as others started and the Empress appeared, making her way to a regal, high-backed chair the Boyles apparently kept on hand for any visiting dignitaries. Some antique perhaps left over from the house’s previous tenant, inscribed with a few lines of Stricture that were pious and annoying and - given their appalling lack of imagination - probably all about the virtue of chairs, somehow. The magnificent and virtuous sacrifice of an entire dining room set at Whitecliff. 

Emily was perfectly poised - composed, the way one would set a still life - and there was Corvo standing just to the side of the throne as always. Scanning the room, and their eyes met, and nothing should have come of it. Even among his subordinates Daud had never been anything approaching close, but here it was, he knew the man’s thoughts as if they were his own. They were too much the same, Corvo asking silently if there were any problems and Daud not even shaking his head, but knowing the message had been received as the Lord Protector went back to observing the rest of the room.

He should have been facedown and drifting with the rest of the debris in the Flooded District, not standing here and imagining some other world where Corvo Attano was not the Lord Protector because Daud had gotten to him first.

A couple raised their glasses to Sokolov as they walked by, and he returned the gesture, though his expression did not change, no longer interested in even feigning gratitude. Certainly all of this was as much in honor of him as anyone else, and there had been speeches at the Academy all week leading up to the event. Soklov was all too happy to explain how he had done valiant battle against the plague, Piero Joplin’s speeches taking place in a side hall without quite the same quality of attendance. As far as Daud could tell, the man made up for his numbers by complaining about it at length to anyone who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough.

“It seems that you are the Royal Spymaster now?”

Daud didn’t answer. If Sokolov expected him to, then they’d all become much bigger fools over the years. 

He’d always felt some regret for choices he’d made early on, though honestly it probably did his reputation more good than harm, Sokolov’s predilection for painting those who would go on to make their name in Dunwall in one way or another. It may have gained him a well-paying job or two, and no one who had recognized him for other purposes had stayed in Dunwall, or alive, long enough for it to really matter.

Sokolov, of course, hadn’t changed one whit, if the drink in his hand or the casual way his gaze scraped across every woman that passed was any indication. No reason for him to alter a single habit, not when he was as successful, as famous - even _more_ well-acclaimed now than he had ever been, if such a thing were possible.

A representative from the Abbey took the floor, and proceeded to be both threatening and dull in the way only the Overseers could pull off, droning on and on about honor and duty, respect and obedience and Gristol - more than one reference to the greatness of Dunwall, an off note on a day that was supposed to be about unity, about the shared, common vision and respect of the Empire.

“I hear they haven’t yet set a date for the feast.” Sokolov murmured, taking another sip of his drink. “Although I suppose one can’t blame them for wanting to put it off, with what happened to the last two High Overseers.”

“The more grisly the death, the more virtuous the man.” 

It would have been better mockery, if there weren’t some truth to the belief. Daud had seen Overseers die hard and ugly, pleading and begging - but there’d been others as well, a spare handful every year. The incorruptible ones, the ones that had laughed at him and his men, spitting out blood and teeth between lines of reverent Stricture. Gazing up with what should have been hate, but wasn’t. Daud had a very short list of those things that could draw a chill down his spine, but that sort of rapturous death wish, twisting one’s soul to wage a war against a malevolent darkness that wasn’t even there… It seemed far more unnatural than even the deepest parts of the Void.

“It was you, then?” Sokolov said. “What happened, with Empress Jessamine. That was you.”

It wasn’t exactly a question, but more like something the man had pieced together himself. So, Attano really had left the Royal Physician out of the loop all this time? Interesting.

Daud kept his silence. He’d discovered over the years just how many people could have a conversation with him entirely on their own.

“Why?” Sokolov’s voice was as empty as the glass in his hands, as if the answer were merely a matter of passing the time. Perhaps it was. Daud had never been quite certain of the man, knowing only enough to be cautious.

“It was a job.” 

“And this?”

“Still a job.”

Daud liked to hear the rumors and stories about himself. It always made him sound so very interesting. The whispers about his past, the ones that put him nowhere and everywhere all at once. The ones that told tales of his mother, or tried to guess at his father - they’d said he was the son of the Outsider himself. Of course they had. It hadn’t been bad, really, to hear an old god chuckle, always as if hearing a favorite joke for the thousandth thousandth time.

 _They said that about every witch, once._

The words so casual, always, but with the echo of a roar behind them, some distant storm with lightning smashing fissures in the sky. Which one was the Outsider, then, truly? A monster pretending at meekness or some lesser god feigning omnipotence? He’d asked - of course Daud had asked, hating the thought of hesitating more than any punishment. 

As if any question had ever gained him a reaction more than an infuriating consideration and that musing smile. The cool glance of fingertips barely brushing against his skin, turning his chin, his gaze toward those eyes - and they weren’t cold, they weren’t empty. Whatever they were, it was not that. At times, Daud wondered if the Outsider was the only truly living thing in the world, and the rest of them were but dreams and echoes, no more substantial than shadows dancing on the wall. 

_What do you think? Am I all things to all men, or all things and all men?_

The Overseer finished his speech to a vaguely reverent silence, and bowed to the Empress because even the Abbey knew better than to want the city in its current state. Daud had said as much to Attano - the stalemate would last as long as there were still corpses floating in the gutters, and if they had any hope of restricting the Abbey they had to do it now, all at once, and be done with it. It wasn’t as if the bastards were losing anything they should have ever been given, the beginning of Emily Kaldwin’s reign already being called a ‘Restoration,’ summoning all those years that only looked so grand in retrospect, the court of her mother, even her grandfather. 

Morley was the first to present themselves. Daud had made himself familiar with every bit of tribute presented to the Empress, his men searching the crates before they’d ever hit the shore. Most of it was food, a few delicacies and ornaments for public display, with the real value to be found in the ships accompanying them, stocked with whale oil and more provisions and medicines for all those things that weren’t the Plague. Corvo had been half worried that at least one of those ships might have been filled with men, not supplies, but again, who would want to capture Dunwall as it stood?

Edgar Burrell, Morley’s ambassador, bowed to the Empress with all due diligence and obligation. He was somewhat stocky and nondescript, and Daud felt a brief moment of pity for those unfortunate men who’d confirmed Lady Boyle’s assertion, certainly nothing about him or Lord Estermont inspiring the desire to see them in any sort of compromising position. 

Waverly stood with her sister near the front of the assembly, as befitted the lady of the house, and he didn’t think she’d bothered to find him in the crowd until she turned to smirk at him, even her amusement a freshly-sharpened thing.

Burrell’s gift to the Empress herself came in the form of a ballroom’s worth of gowns of all colors and styles, cut from the finest cloth and paraded before her on a dozen girls from Morley, each curtseying deeply before the throne. Daud thought Emily would have much preferred the company of even one of those girls to the finery they wore, but she nodded and smiled to each in gratitude. The necessary show of formality and politeness, the ambassador with his careful speech and the Empress with her even more careful reply. Only very occasionally, Corvo would lean down to whisper a word or two when she faltered or lost her place, but such moments were few and understandable for a young Empress, a good way for the ambassadors to show their understanding.

Burrell had also brought his son with him, a tall boy who seemed only a few years older than Emily. The child had raised no alarms, and so Daud had not thought on him for more than a moment before now, or even why he might be there until the man from Morley stepped aside so the procession from Serkonos could make its way to the throne. The ambassador bowed - and so did the boy next to him, the young son of a duke of the far isle.

Ah. Daud had been focused on danger only, enough for the obvious to go utterly unnoticed. The son from Morley, the titled boy from Serkonos, and a Tyvian prince still waiting in the wings? The Empress was too young for this kind of nonsense, but why should that stop anyone? If Corvo had figured it out yet, he was a better actor than Daud gave him credit for, still quiet and blank-faced behind the throne. A good bodyguard. Who knew what might have happened the day Jessamine Kaldwin died, had Corvo not been fresh off a boat from too long a voyage, and Daud not been the man he was.

The Serkonans brought more food, ales and wines and other, less powerful drinks for younger palates. They also brought music, the better part of an orchestra set up against the wall, waiting for their chance to entertain. 

It had been no small annoyance, having to check over each of their instrument, but Daud felt a little smug that knowing every inch of the boats meant he knew what was coming next, as the duke’s son from Serkonos approached the throne with a very special present for the Empress. A gift of the wagging and barking variety, and for all Emily’s due politeness there was no mistaking her very real delight as the boy passed the dog’s leash to her, and it lapped at her face as she lifted it into her arms, laughing. 

It was a small spaniel, with long, glossy ears and a delicate face. It was sweet. It was adorable. Attano would kill him if got eaten by rats.

The puppy was not one of the more famous breeds from Serkonos, most of those far larger hounds used for hunting or herding, but a fine gift nonetheless. Daud remembered a dog he’d owned once, so many years ago now that the memory hardly felt like his own. A great shaggy beast that had been his constant companion, always draped across his feet when he slept and at his side when he’d wandered. He’d been heartbroken when it had died - old age, nothing terrible about it save that he hadn’t wanted it to happen. His mother had been proud of his tears. It was important to respect the value of what loved you, that was what she’d told him, and to never feel shame for real sorrow. Whatever he did in the world, for good or ill, he was worth nothing to anyone if he was not prepared to own it.

She would approve of this, now. He was sure of that.

It finally seemed to hit the Lord Protector, just what it meant to have so many boys of about the same age being presented to the Empress, although it made no impact on Attano beyond a slight tightening of his mouth, his eyes narrowing just a little, and Daud tried not to smirk.

The Empress played a bit with the dog, laughing as it rolled onto its back, tongue lolling to the side as she scratched its belly. The court made all the appropriate noises of appreciation - who knew, a few of them might honestly be happy for her, and the rest would walk away thinking of the Empress as a harmless child, which was useful. The ambassador from Serkonos looked quite pleased with himself, and that was useful too.

“The Lord Protector refuses to let me examine him,” Sokolov said, the charms of adorable girls their adorable pets utterly lost on him.

“Are you at all surprised?”

Daud certainly wasn’t, yet another thing that had not changed for all the years that had passed. The Academy was still determined to crash through the gates of the Void by will alone, as if they could grind the Outsider down to what was manageable by the simple application of stubbornness, theory and time. He’d spent a season among them, mostly for curiosity’s sake, taking advantage of the opportunity. It was funny how often he’d been treated as nothing more than a common cutpurse, the thickest of fools - but Daud had understood most of what he’d seen behind the doors of the Academy. Their attempts to make sense of the Void, let alone to take command of it and its powers… well, it had been easier to understand why the Outsider never stopped smiling, why he had come to treat Daud with such amused condescension.

“Corvo Attano disapproves of some of my methods.”

“Obviously not the results.” 

It said something about the levels of freedom Sokolov was used to, that he would complain about what must have been only a simple conversation. Daud knew the discussions between them could have gone no further, even Attano knowing how far he could push a man too valuable to lose. He’d wondered briefly if he ought to warn the Lord Protector about the man’s particular obsessions, but that suggested Corvo wasn’t already aware. 

Piero Joplin was brilliant, skilled and inventive in ways that would have gotten him killed for heresy had the Academy not brought him back into his ranks, and yet for all his service to the Empire and the Empress herself, it seemed that he had been given an honorary title as Royal Inventor for no more likely reason than as a distraction. The more time Sokolov spent bickering with a man raised to the status of his equal, the more time he spent worrying that Joplin might surpass him with some brilliant discovery, the less time he could spend wondering about just how the Lord Protector had managed his return to grace. 

“You can’t possibly think you’re at any risk. What would the Empire do without you?” Daud said, just in case there were something he ought to know.

“No one is untouchable forever.”

It was a familiar sentiment in a familiar tone - enough to know that Sokolov wasn’t talking about himself anymore. Daud had heard it often enough, usually when some long-researched project involving the Outsider had all wound its way down to nothing. A way to justify months of useless work, or years… or a lifetime. 

Sokolov enjoyed the attention, and the perks that came with it, the women and the wine and the exclusivity of it all. He liked being smarter than other men, and for the whole world to know it. All of these paled, though, against the mark on Daud’s skin, and how he’d acquired it, and though he had split from the Academy out of boredom rather than fear, there was no denying the covetous gleam in Sokolov’s eye - desire and determination and anger. The thought of a whole life wasted, utterly useless for the one secret he could not begin to crack.

“I wasn’t lying, what I said to you back then, and it hasn’t changed.” Daud said. “There is nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. I imagine Corvo Attano could tell you even less.”

Sokolov’s face twisted as if he’d bit into something rotten. He thought Daud was being dismissive, hiding the answer from him when the reality was that it _was_ the answer, and Daud had no better way to explain himself. The man would never believe the truth, that the most intricate solutions could only lead to more questions, that the Outsider would certainly disappoint him if they did meet. From all Daud had absorbed of natural philosophy and everything the Void might share - at the end, it was not science but philosophy. All a matter of seeing what one wanted to see, the results altering for whatever they wished for. The observer effect - _all things to all men_ \- and Daud's powers were odd, sometimes useful curiosities, but mere parlor tricks against the truths Sokolov was searching for. Truths he would never find. The Void existed past all such simple notions.

“Ah, would you look at that? Whatever’s changed in the world, at least we’re still plenty ridiculous.”

Sokolov’s voice grated, rough with annoyance - he wouldn’t forget this, they would return to this conversation, perhaps more than once - but for the moment his attention had been diverted, as the last of the ambassadors finally appeared on the scene. Announced by one of their unsurprisingly loud footmen, turning what had slid into a somewhat casual affair back into the realm of the formal.

“Presenting Prince Tyris and Princess Tatyana Linchenko, of Tyvia.”

The presentations from Morley and Serkonos had hardly been stingy or careless - the dog was a particularly clever choice - but Tyvia was not known for their sense of understatement, even in situations without a guaranteed audience. The processional had dressed all in white - from boot tips to buttons - and balanced wide silver platters above their heads, laden with all the riches of Tyvia, meats and wines, precious stones, each plate connected to the next by a thin line of slightly jingling silver bells, giving the sense of a great sleigh slowly drifting forward. 

Daud had said the royal children were fraternal twins, but apart from Tatyana’s long blonde hair, spilling down from the back of her fur cap, there was little else to mark any difference between them. The boy had a long, gleaming rapier at his side, held fast in its sheath. Ceremonial, a mark of rank, and of course not to be drawn in the Empress’ presence. The girl wore a fur cloak that trailed out behind her in an endless fall of white, several feet of softness spread across the floor in a bed of supple snow. He had to admit, they made quite the appearance, and they seemed to know it too, lofty with pride and well aware they were overdoing it as they moved just behind the leader of their little parade.

The silver peacock strutted just ahead of them, life-size and intricately detailed for a land that had probably never seen a real one. It moved with a surprisingly smooth gait, head turning this way and that almost as if it were alive. A clever little toy, meant to impress and entertain, and even Sokolov seemed temporarily subdued, watching the clockwork creature pass with at least a mild interest.  
Daud could hear a few whispers, the ambassador from Morley looking more and more annoyed to be first shown up by a dog and then by a pair of children, the Serkonans a bit more bemused, but the Tyvians glided above it all as if it were their own private party, obviously the most comfortable when they were the center of attention. 

The tin toy stopped at the foot of the Empress’ platform, the crowd chuckling here and there as Emily held back her curious new pet, nose twitching in the air as it leaned forward. Corvo tensed, and Daud had to admit there was enough in the clicking and whirring of gears to make anyone nervous, or at least he certainly had been before he’d examined the thing - _and no, it’s not a bomb, Lord Protector, and yes I checked it. I checked it_ twice _myself, Attano and you’re more than welcome to go over there and do the same if it means you’ll stop pecking at me._

He was fairly certain Corvo had, which meant he could simply enjoy the spectacle of it, the graceful machine lifting its tail up and gravity taking care of the rest, metal feathers sliding down from both sides, intricately inlaid with tiny glass panels in a multitude of colors, a thousand miniature stained glass windows. Daud considered asking Sokolov how much a thing like that might cost, but for all his dismissal of the upper ranks the man was more likely himself to think of coin as mere ballast than of anything of worth. 

The prince and princess both bowed deeply, removing their hats - and it was a surprise, even to him, when Tatyana’s hair went with it, as her cloak fell away. Tyris’ own hat disappeared as well, replaced by a brilliant spill of pale gold as long as the wig - her brother’s wig - had been, and when they stood up nothing had truly changed. Still one prince and one princess who looked remarkably alike, although now it was Tatyana wearing the sword while Tyris sported a rather feminine overcoat.

A cute trick. Emily seemed quite diverted, while the rest of the room was no doubt reminded of Tyvia’s less innocent transgressions, from a land where the Fugue Feast lasted the whole year through, and it was only the spare hours that they kept for sensible behavior. Judging by the matching grins from prince and princess, it had been entirely the point. 

“If you’re lucky,” Daud said, “maybe they’ll have some news from the homeland.”

Sokolov might have punched him, had they been younger men, and were he not beyond such petty concerns or at the risk of spilling his drink.


	4. Chapter 4

Daud never had much patience for bodyguard work, too much fuss with too many variables and that was when idiots bothered to listen to the advice they’d paid for. He wanted to stab his employers often enough as it was, spending more time with them was rarely a good idea.

Still, Daud had his instincts and his adaptability. He knew where and how he would strike and took his cues from there as he made his way about the room. It was a somewhat novel experience to actually have an invitation, at least giving him leave to ignore the Watch. Every now and then, he caught a slight glimpse of movement at the window, a passing gesture no one else would have noticed, or marked on if they had. A sign from his men outside, that all was still clear. No problems, not that he had expected any, with everyone who’d wished to do them harm already inside the hall.

At least one Overseer was on patrol with one of their new toys, and Daud imagined the box was giving his Whalers one hell of a headache. Still, they would need to learn how to deal with them, or at least work around them, and sooner rather than later. It seemed unlikely that the court of Emily Kaldwin would be much interested in waging any great wars against the Outsider, which meant… well, they would have to see what it meant.

The tables were shifted and ornaments moved so that there could be some music and dancing - a show of trained performers from Serkonos to start things off, before the musicians turned to simpler and more popular fare, as all of Dunwall twittered and made excuses for not knowing the latest steps. He heard Lady Boyle laugh, a merry, false thing, and then she was beside him on the wall, fanning herself as if she only wished for an open window and not to leap out of it.

“Enjoying your party?” He said. She handed him a drink, and Daud took a small sip, just to wet his throat, before realizing it was tea and not the brandy he’d assumed. He might have paid her a compliment for such tactics, and she smiled as if he had. It was a friendly look and her voice was calm and inviting, every bit the gracious hostess.

“How much do I pay you to just start killing people?” 

Daud made a show of considering the thought. “What do you have in your pockets?” 

Waverly didn’t answer, taking a drink of what also had to be more water than wine as she joined him in surveying the room. It was a lovely party, even for an obligation, and Emily had done a wonderful job of sitting on the throne and looking appreciative and entertained, which was probably even more annoying than it sounded. While the young men from Serkonos and Morley drifted off to hover at the edges of Admirals’ conversations, the Tyvian prince was making an absolutely marvelous spectacle of himself, seated right at the Empress’ feet. 

“Well now,” Waverly said, with a smile that was almost impressed, “isn’t he the clever one? I wonder how long Corvo will let him live.”

The fur cloak, of course, had been presented as tribute, and of course the boy knew exactly what he was doing, sprawled on top of it as if he were another gift himself. Daud couldn’t hear what was said between them, only watched Emily laugh at his idle observations, or as he played with the dog.

The ambassadors were less than pleased, Daud saw the man from Morley even lashing his son with a few quiet, angry remarks, but at this point there was nothing for them to do, no way to approach the Empress without it looking like a pathetic play for second best. Attano wasn’t faring much better, though nothing had changed in his expression. It was all in his posture, as if it took everything in his power to keep from tossing the boy through the nearest wall. If there hadn’t been so many Overseers milling about, he might very well have tried it. 

Daud looked for the sister - the Tyvian princess mingling among the crowd with an equally confident air. Even she had glanced back at her brother in exasperation, though her look was blunted both by affection and a total lack of surprise. Maybe it was not the first time Tyris had wagered his charisma to stake claims far beyond what he had the right to. Overdoing for the sake of overdoing, just to keep up on the Northern isle’s considerable reputation. Sokolov had disappeared when the dancing had begun, and there was no reason to think he would return.

The prince was effortlessly charming. Emily seemed utterly enchanted. Corvo was absolutely murderous. Daud hadn’t been this close to laughing in a decade. There were times it was good not to be dead.

One dance ended and the next began, and it wasn’t all that surprising when the Tyvian prince sprung to his feet, bowed deeply, and drew the Empress out onto the floor. Emily was surprised - shocked might have been the better word, but she allowed herself to be led and Corvo did not move to stop her because it was only a dance, and a strong and confident Empress did not fear a simple diversion, or a bit of distance from her bodyguard. Daud wasn’t surprised, though, when the Lord Protector looked his way, and he nodded, as if there weren’t half a dozen pair of eyes already on the floor. Waverly said nothing as he quickly made his way to a better position.

The Empress had a proper dancing instructor, of course, but the last that Daud had seen it was Corvo helping her with the steps, with Emily complaining that it wasn’t fair, _Mother_ hadn’t had to dance in years and anyway what did dancing have to do with treaties or ruling or any of it? Her indifference did not seem to slow her down at present, and the ambassadors from Serkonos and Morley finally found the opportunity to throw their own charges back into the fray. The young men were enthusiastic, though the Morley boy was particularly clumsy. Fortunately for him, Emily was graceful enough to make up for it.

The little Serkonan duke glared steadily at the Tyvian prince from the sidelines, obviously looking for any sort of opening to make a move or perhaps even start a fight and impress the Empress with his swordplay. As if the girl hadn’t seen enough violence to satisfy any man, and either the prince was as oblivious as he looked or actually smart enough to take the high ground and feign it. Tatyana had joined the line of dancers, and for a time she and Tyris seemed to pass Emily between them - and yes, the royal court was certainly lucky the Empress wasn’t a few years older. Even then, the gossip from this party would certainly be interesting. 

Daud’s expression rarely changed, a combination of base temperament and the ravages of salt air leaving him more statue than man, but he realized as he watched the ridiculous parade, even with ugliness peeking out from around all the glitter and finery, that he was very nearly smiling. Enjoying himself, as the young Empress enjoyed herself, despite all the demands of poise and obligation and dignity. 

Shame hit him hard, always the damned relentless tide, not because of the girl’s innocence or her mother’s virtue, but that deeper failure he could not even put words to. How had he let the city win, how had it seeped down so far, right into the marrow of him? He could have done anything, _anything_ with the gifts he’d been given. Daud had only ever made promises to himself, and even those had become so small and so cheap. 

It would be easy, laughably so, to betray this fragile court, and the mere thought of it made him feel unbearably weary. It wasn’t guilt or loyalty, not the fear of punishment or retaliation - he loathed to think of winning, to imagine having to wake up and meet his victory.

The room was in constant motion, but it seemed a gentle, easy tide, nothing to put him on edge. Daud’s eyes flicked now and then to where the Lord Protector stood, Attano as calm and relaxed as a cat pitched headfirst into a Wall of Light, the only one he’d count on to catch anything he might have missed.

Nothing had changed, no sound, no suspicious motion but when he glanced to the Lord Protector, Attano was clutching the side of the Empress’ empty throne, his gaze frozen on the center of the room and his face paler than sea-scoured bone. It was shocking enough that Daud wasted a long moment looking for an exit wound, certain the man was about to fall. He followed the Lord Protector’s gaze, past the sparkling, well-heeled masses to where the Empress danced carefully with the Serkonan boy, her smile fixed in concentration as she moved carefully through the steps - passing hands from gentleman to lady and back again as she turned and bowed and spun - and the dancers touched hands in the center of the room before stepping back and there, and there...

If Daud had needed some final proof of the uselessness of the Abbey, here it was with buckets to spare, not a single Overseer to notice or care that the Outsider danced among them.

The music changed even as he moved forward, out of the line dances and into a waltz. As the dancers paired up on the floor Daud strode forward and grasped the Outsider’s hand, with thin fingers gloved in black that only looked like leather - and cold, incredibly cold. Dark ringlet curls framed eyes that gave way to the end of time, the Outsider watching him in that ever-present amusement as Daud pressed a hand against her - his - _it’s_ back, taking the lead, his first step moving them toward the center of the room, the middle of the dancers and away from as many observers as he could manage. 

“You look ridiculous,” Daud growled, though it wasn’t much like the truth. The Outsider made for a perfectly fine lady, dressed in a midnight shade that seemed to change even as they moved, from pale blue to darker sapphire to almost black, the last colors a man would see as he drowned. “How are you even here without a shrine?”

“Special occasion.”

The Outsider’s smiled widened further. Daud recognized the color on her lips, a popular shade at the Cat. He could sense nothing where his fingertips pressed against the jacket but a chill, tingling all the way up his arm, but he could feel the exact shape of the mark against his skin, burning. Ah, no tribute. No need. At the moment, _he_ was the shrine. 

Cute.

Corvo was still at his position near the empty throne, perhaps remembering how to breathe. The Empress was currently waltzing not with the Serkonan or even her most ardent suitor, but the Tyvian princess. No wonder no one else had noticed his choice of dance partner, not with the tall blonde guiding Emily expertly around the room. The girl was apparently her brother’s match in conversation as well, the Empress giggling brightly as she spun and twirled. It was mildly scandalous, with likely repercussions down the line, but Emily had not looked so happy in all the time he’d seen her, and Daud doubted there was a price for even her mildest amusement that Attano was not willing to pay.

He realized, a second too late, that the Outsider was watching, his expression a mix of curiosity and interest that left Daud frowning back. It gained him a smile he didn’t want, and a pale-gloved hand against his shoulder - the cold like a rolling fog, with the deeper mark-shaped bite digging into his chilled skin.

It would be a long time, he thought, before the song would be allowed to end.

“Daud, do you want to know what they call the Isles in ten-thousand years?”

What was it that drove so many men and women mad amidst those symbols and trinkets of the Outsider’s power? Daud had often wondered, bearing the Mark itself and waiting for some sign of his own mind splintering, some tendency to the grotesque and grandiose, only to find himself year after year exactly the same as before. What had obsessed Vera Moray, to transform herself to the creature she had become? Was it some dark secret that had passed him by, or simply the permission that such power provided? What was a man, truly, with all false pretense stripped bare? 

It was graceful and delicate, to waltz with a god. The Outsider moved as if taking the place of Daud’s shadow. The Outsider let him lead.

“You were subtle once.”

A slightly arched eyebrow. The smallest, amused flicker in the blackest of depths, some creature never seen before and never to reappear. “Was I?”

“If you were half the god you say you are…”

“It takes you a long time, just to convince the vines to take root. Gardening is not among your many talents,” The Outsider says in a soft, storytelling voice, and Daud stops talking. “Your men help, but they’re only slightly worse in the fields than they are with the books. The first years pour out like bottled vinegar. Serkonos is as you remember, in the ways that you need it to be, and you refuse to mark the differences. You live long enough to see the sons of your Whalers tending the fields, and when you die they don’t bury you under your own name.”

He’d never told anyone of the dream, what he would do with his retirement, his second chance. Some quiet place. Home. All an impossibility now, and what he felt was not quite regret, listening to the Outsider speak of what could have been, what would never be.

“Corvo murders you quickly, on what’s left of the top floor in the building across from your office. He doesn’t give you the chance to speak. The fight lasts for some respectable time, and to your credit he does leave bleeding.” The Outsider’s hand briefly moves to a high point on his chest, near his throat, marking the spot where that phantom blade finally thrust home, a brutal end in a hypothetical world. “A few of your men survive his assault. They save your body from the rats. The Flooded District is sealed away until nothing remains but crabs picking at the foundations. Seven hundred years pass, and your skull is on display in a museum. _Head of a Man from the former Isle of Gristol, Cause of Death Unknown._ “

Daud didn’t shiver, but it was a nearer thing than he would have liked. The Outsider’s conversations were idle in the one direction only, and it was too easy to see it. Daud could imagine the world in which Corvo took his vengeance simply and without question. If anything, it seemed far more sensible than where he found himself now.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” The Outsider murmured. “I still don’t know why he spared your life.”

The Royal Spymaster danced. The Lord Protector clung to the throne as if he’d been frozen there. The Mark had not pitched Daud off the edge of the rational world, but he had not the first notion of what it had done to Corvo Attano.

“If you keep batting him about like this, he’s not going to last.” Daud said. “He was wound too tight before you got here. Any worse, and he’s liable to swallow his own tongue out of nerves.”  
The Outsider looked thoughtful for a moment, as if he couldn’t imagine why apparating into a room full of Overseers and the Empress herself might be at all upsetting, and beneath the thoughtfulness - as always - was that amused, _entertained_ look. A theatergoer leaning forward in his seat to make sure he didn’t miss a moment of the show. Was it worth enduring Sokolov to discover some possibility for setting a god on fire?

“Do you want my advice, Daud? I-”

“No.”

The Outsider laughed then, a sound to send the lights shaking in their lamps, to rattle the stars and make the whole world tremble. It should have been enough to announce him to the world, but just then, on the far side of the room a door suddenly slammed open hard, a wide pane of glass shattering when it hit. A storm had rolled in without any prelude, the first drops of rain slapping angrily against the panes. The wind roared through the sudden gap, tossing hats and unbalancing pedestals, a great vase smashing to pieces, spilling flowers across the floor as the curtains blew wide.

Daud knew some fool woman would scream even as her cry pierced the rising panic in the room, the crowd quickly becoming more of a danger to itself than any threat from the outside could be. Now the Overseers were paying attention and Attano was already halfway to Emily’s side and closing fast, and the Empress….

_Now that is interesting._

Her Highness had been carefully set in between the Tyvians for protection, the Prince staring out into the crowd and the Princess with a hand on her sword and the Outsider -

The Outsider was gone. Typical. Daud felt rather stupid for expecting otherwise.

What followed was no less surprising, as Corvo finally reached Emily’s side, no doubt preparing to spirit the startled girl away. It had been a long day, and with the sudden interruption the unease in the room was palpable. Daud was as surprised as the rest of them, when the Empress lifted a hand, stopping her Lord Protector a few feet away. Emily turned an imperious gaze to where the servants were already handling the mess, securing the door - and then she gestured to the musicians, who quickly rallied to her command. The music started up again, perhaps a bit too cheerfully for the mood, but Emily only grasped Tryis’ hand with her left and Tatyana’s with her right and took the lead in a somewhat haphazard circle dance. Thankfully, the Tyvians were quick to catch on, and moments later the whole room seemed to dust itself off and rally back into the festivities.

Corvo paused only for a moment, too well-trained to let surprise get in the way of his duty. If the Empress wished for a show of strength, it was his job to step aside. Still, it was easy to see that it cost him, even if he was proud she could stand on her own - what was there of Corvo when he was not the Lord Protector? If the Empress did not need him, what remained?

_Don’t worry, you still have a place. Someone’s bound to try and murder her eventually._

Hardly the most reassuring of thoughts.

\------------------------------------

The joy of security detail was that when everything went as planned and there were no surprises, it was still a matter of standing around for hours at a time on guard for threats that didn’t exist, preparing for a worst that never came. The work was exhausting and thankless even without capricious gods cross-dressing their way into the middle of it all.

His men hadn’t been pleased with the sudden storm, either.

It had been hours past the end of the party, past the polite farewells to every guests and kind words to the diplomats, all of them soon returning to their ships and from there, on the morrow, the long voyage home. Daud wondered what news they would bring back with them, their impressions of the strength of the heart of the Empire, of the Empress and her Court.

Of course, it might be their luck, and most would only remember the Tyvian prince’s downright scandalous behavior, stealing a kiss on the Empress’ cheek before fleeing swiftly for the safety of his ship with the Lord Protector hot on his heels. The story was not so far from the truth, Corvo not-so-subtly shooting down Tyris’ every attempt to give her a gift any more permanent than his attention. Still, he and his sister had made their names known, and Emily had been enchanted, transported for a while from her rather lonely world. It could be a fair alliance. It could be a dangerous liability. Only time would tell. 

The Tower was still and quiet, possessed of a satisfied kind of silence, the sense of work well done and some small victories achieved. Emily and her new puppy had chased each other up and down the halls until the both of them had been bundled off to bed. Callista protested the dog taking up residence in the Empress’ bedroom, Emily had pleaded, and Corvo had folded without protest. Daud doubted it would ever be otherwise.

He had not been formally summoned to Attano’s office - there was nothing to report - but by the time he thought of it he was already on the threshold, and then through the door.

Considerations for the use of his powers had changed, of course, since Daud had been given a title and at least some measure of public notice. As for Corvo, permanently fixed behind the throne, with the Empress’ ear and the Empress’ loyalties, the need to be circumspect outweighed most everything else. Emily knew how her beloved Attano had changed, of course, but she was also smart enough to know what hadn’t been altered. Daud wasn’t certain if the Curnow woman knew - suspected, perhaps - but there was no one in the Empress’ inner circle with much of an interest in running off to tell the Abbey anything. 

Still, he had yet to see Attano actually _use_ his powers, so he was a bit surprised to step into the room and see the knife hovering above the desktop, Corvo in his chair with one hand raised and time with the weight of treacle pressing down around them. If the Lord Protector was at all startled by Daud’s presence, by the way he moved unaffected, he made no sign. All of his being seemed focused on the blade as it moved by fractions of fractions, slowly spinning in the air, and only as it seemed to come to an absolute halt did Daud realize what the man was trying to do.

“It won’t work. You can’t turn it back.”

It seemed Corvo hadn’t noticed him at all, fully intent on his practice - he startled, snapped out a curse under his breath and flicked his fingers out. Time caught up, the knife sweeping into a downward arc for only half a breath before the windblast caught it, snapping it into the plaster at the far wall, all the way to the hilt.

“You’re quite good at that.” Daud said, and meant it. Spend enough time among thugs and braggarts and it was difficult not to appreciate a bit of delicacy or finesse. The Lord Protector did not even shrug, leaning back in his chair. A bottle of wine was on his desk, Daud reached for it, uncorked it with a small blade that had few other uses and did not even bother searching out a glass, taking a long drink before passing the bottle over. A too-familiar gesture, perhaps, but they had just spent a very long day working quite closely together, even from opposite sides of a room, and Corvo took it from him without comment.

“What did He want?”

“The usual. Smug observations he thinks are amusing because no one can stab him. You know how it goes.”

The corner of Corvo’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. It was the closest Daud had come to yet in provoking an emotion other than barely-checked homicide.

“So… she’s safe?”

“From him? You know that’s not how it works.” 

Who knew how it worked, really? If Daud had his guess, he could imagine some new threat wearing the Mark, chosen for some inscrutable purpose, or simply at a whim. The Outsider’s work would be subtle, and impossible to predict, and what was the point of trying to plan for that?

Attano nodded, as if he was thinking the exact same thing. He lifted a hand to his neck, rubbing hard, tilting his head, the sounds of exhaustion cracking free from weary bones, enough to make a dead man flinch in sympathy.

“You look like the inside of a pickled eel.” Daud said. “Get some rest. You won’t be any use to her if you don’t take care of yourself.”

It was an observation of fact, nothing more, but Corvo stared at him for so long Daud wondered if one of them was going to have to throw a punch to move things forward. It did not improve, to remember the Outsider’s smile, and all that Daud been told, pasts and futures that would never be. Did he whisper in the Lord Protector’s ear? What secrets did he tell?

“I don’t need any mistakes from your end, Attano, while my men and I are trying to work.” As if the thought held much credibility, but Corvo let it pass without comment. The both of them were weary, truly, and for a long moment there was only silence. The bottle made another pass across the desk and back again.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Corvo finally said, staring at it, through it at nothing. “Keeping her safe. You knew what you were doing.”

It was very nearly a thank you. Exactly like, really.

“You know we’re going to have problems with Morley.” Daud said. “I think sooner, rather than later.” Of all the ambassadors, his overtures - other than to Lord Estermont, of course - had been the coolest, the most vague and calculating. Only a fool would think they hadn’t come entirely to see what remained of Gristol’s power, to weigh their possibilities.

“I imagine it will be unavoidable.” 

Clearly it wasn’t the only concern on Attano’s mind, perhaps not even at the fore compared to a young princeling who’d certainly put his back into kindling an instant infatuation. Corvo wore the slight frown he’d had when meeting the Tyvians and when they’d been at the party and all the way up through their farewells, when Tyris had bowed deeply and kissed Emily’s hand. Showing no less fealty than any of the other ambassadors and their charges, but there was a world of difference and everyone knew it. 

Daud shook his head. “I doubt you have much to worry about. It was a spectacle and he knew how to perform.”

“Oh, he said he would write her. The brat swore he’d have a letter for the next ship over and if he doesn’t deliver, I’ll kill him myself.” 

Daud perhaps did not quite conceal his amusement, from the glare Attano threw his way. Certainly it would be entertaining to watch him flay half of the Empress’ inevitable suitors for paying her too much attention, and the other half for not attending closely enough.

“The girl was interesting,” Daud said. “Did you see the way she put Emily behind her? Unless they somehow staged the storm, that was not planned.”

The question, of course, how much of her chivalry was genuine and how much came from Tyvia’s expectation? Daud wondered if, letters or not, the twins would ever appear again, replaced with more impressive family as Emily’s power grew. Gristol, he thought, had presented itself well, tarnished by tragedy but certainly not demolished by it, and the Empress had played her part admirably.

Corvo had gone quiet again, and Daud thought he might know the bend of his thoughts - the moment the celebration had faltered, and the time it had taken him to reach the Empress’ side. Any more of a threat, any greater urgency and he might very well have been there in an instant, and that would have been the end of… everything, really. The moment could very well come, Emily’s safety against her Lord Protector’s secrecy and Daud already knew how that would play out. After a moment, he shrugged the thought aside. It might well happen, but not tonight, and Attano certainly needed no more encouragement to brood.

“He certainly knew what he was on about, that Tyvian. I think that Serkonan boy _and_ the ambassador were ready to challenge him before the end of the third song.” He reached for what was left of the wine, and killed it with little effort. “The dog was a good choice.”

“Not for Callista.” Corvo said, and now that they were speaking of topics concerning the Empress’ happiness he was allowed to be human again, a soft, fond look in his eyes. Or perhaps it was just exhaustion mixed with a bit of wine. He really did look worn through, and Daud did hope the Outsider had enough sense not to muck about in his dreams, even if such hope seemed unlikely. “She was happy tonight, wasn’t she? Emily.” 

“It seemed so. I believe she has it in her to be every bit as great as her mother was.” Dangerous, the most dangerous ground for him to tread, but it was the truth. Attano only looked at him, and in the half-shadowed light his eyes seemed as black and unknown as the Outsider’s.

_I still don’t know why he spared your life._

“I’m still going to murder that little Tyvian shit, if he thinks he can try anything.”

Daud snorted. “Sink his ship before it can pull into the harbor next time.”

Corvo nodded. “I could possess something useful, like a shark.”

“Seagulls first, knock him into the water - then the shark. Or just let the hagfish at him.” 

Daud recognized the sound the moment he heard it - not the midnight bells, they were long past that by now. It was a much louder pealing, deliberately so, easily heard through the closed door and Corvo was up, out of his seat, with Daud a step behind. It wasn’t all that necessary to confirm it, certainly not at speed, but within moments the both of them had gone out the side passage and onto the balcony, a quick skip through space with the world rushing by, and then they were on the roof of the Tower, looking toward the Abbey where every light was lit and the bells continued to ring out, defiant against the still of the night, announcing the ascension of the new High Overseer.

A few moments passed before Corvo spoke, still staring out over the city. 

“Who is it?” 

“No idea.”

“You were told a choice wouldn’t be made until-“

“Oh yes, and not until the delegations-”

“And they obviously haven’t…”

It was clear enough, to see the diplomats’ ships still fixed in the harbor. Daud wondered if any the ambassadors were aware of what the Royal Spymaster had somehow overlooked, just who in Dunwall had known about this sudden change in plans. He imagined someone looking quite smug, thinking they’d gotten one over on the throne. He imagined dangling them from the highest point of Kaldwin’s Bridge. He didn’t have to look, to know Corvo’s thoughts traced similar lines. 

It was a meaningless slight. The Abbey would no doubt claim some minor ecclesiastical necessity, completely unrelated to making their decision when all eyes were elsewhere. It wasn’t as if Daud didn’t know the players, those Overseers first in line - but this was still deliberate. It was a message, perhaps a challenge, and even before he disappeared from the rooftop, even before he saw the lights go on in the Empress’ rooms and watched Corvo vanish, Daud knew neither of them would be sleeping tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, what I wouldn’t give for a Google maps Dunwall edition.


End file.
